She transferred here from New York last year. We met once at a party a few weeks back and she was drunk off her ass, puking behind a tree. I held her hair back for her until the guy she was with finally stepped in to take care of her.
But it hadn’t been this guy.
He lifts his chin, and when he does, I take a moment to appreciate his sharp jaw and scruffy face.
“Oh, it was nothing. I didn’t mind at all,” I say, waving my hand back and forth. “We’ve all been there.”
Why am I so nervous? I never get nervous around guys.
Well, except one guy.
But this is different.
His brown eyes seem hauntingly familiar, but I know we’ve never met. I would remember meeting someone as good-looking as him.
The grin holding court on his face won’t let up, but I want to see his teeth. See if they are straight or as crooked as his smile.
Linc returns, handing me a blue solo cup full of foamy beer. “Why are your cheeks so red?” His brow wrinkles in the middle as his curious eyes roam my face.
I flush again, fumbling for my words. “Oh, um…Linc, this is…I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”
The stranger finally smiles, a full on smile showing me a row of white teeth. But, as suspected, they are not perfect. There’s one that is kicked in to the side just a tiny bit and it only adds to his alarming appeal.
“Dean.” He extends his hand. “Dean Winters.”
Linc steps forward, giving him a firm shake. “Linc Matthews,” he replies, then retreats back, draping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in close to his side.
Dean cocks his head, the confused look on his face matching mine I’m sure. An uncomfortable silence hangs between us before Dean clears his throat. “Well, thanks again, Sylvie.” His eyes hold mine. “Hope you have a great birthday.”
Linc grunts and I elbow him in the ribs. “Nice to meet you, Dean.”
With a nod to Rachel, Dean completely ignores Linc and walks away.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask, shoving Linc’s arm from my shoulder.
He has the nerve to look surprised. “What?”
“You know what.” I snap.
“I’ve heard about that guy,” Linc says. “He’s trouble.”
“You know as well as I do you can’t believe everything you hear in this town.”
“Yeah, well, everything I’ve heard is nothin’ good. Stay away from him, Sylvie.”
I blink at the demanding tone of Linc’s voice and open my mouth to tell him off but I’m interrupted. “Hey, Matthews, grab your guitar. Let’s crank this party up,” Nelson shouts.
The crowd raises their drinks in unison and the music blaring from a nearby truck fades out.
Linc grabs his old Gibson from the cab of his truck. It’s scarred and discolored because he carries it everywhere with him, but it is tuned to perfection.
Pushing aside my annoyance with him, I smile. I love hearing him sing. It’s my favorite sound in the whole wide world. He props half of his behind on the edge of the tailgate and rests the base of the guitar on his upper thigh.
He tosses me one of those special smiles he only reserves for me before addressing the crowd. “What’ll it be?”
“‘Waylon,’” Nelson bellows.
And the crowd cheers in agreement.
